FALLOUT: Forgotten Son
by MegaSam777
Summary: In the aftermath of war in the Mojave in 2287, the Wasteland was forever changed and peace became a reality for nearly a decade. But now, an enemy, claiming to be a savior from the past, is here to unleash vengeance. Four survivors, all with deadly secrets and personal agendas of their own, will find themselves at the frontlines of a battle for the Mojave. War. War never changes.
1. INTRO

**INTRO:**

In Fallout: Forgotten Son, I am basically trying to write FALLOUT: NEW VEGAS 2. It continues the story of the Mojave Wasteland and all of the interesting characters within it. In my story, the canon ending is the Independent Vegas ending with Yes Man. I think it was the most peaceful of all the solutions if you played all of your cards right and it is hinted that some new revolution will occur in the near future. Forgotten Son is set six years after the events of New Vegas, in the year 2287. You will see all the changes caused by the Courier and what has happened since the Courier disappeared from the Mojave.

The story is centered on four characters. The main character is Dirt, a prisoner who holds dangerous secrets and an unknown mission that will change the future of humanity forever, whether he wants it to or not. Next, we have Mildred, a 238-year-old Ghoul who has become an alcoholic and is bitter from the life she now leads in the city of Sway. Then, there is Joan, a young woman and a Vault Dweller, who has been sent out of her Vault to explore and bring back data that can help save their small civilization. And last but not least, we have Abel, a Super Mutant who is street-smart and is on his own mission of retribution to save his clan. These four characters will meet and become reluctant heroes in an adventure that will take them across the expanse of the Western United States and will end with an epic and emotional conclusion that is filled with lots of Fallout lore and Easter eggs along the way.

It would be nice and you may understand the story a little easier if you know at least a little about Fallout. If not, here is a brief synopsis:

FALLOUT is one of the best-selling game series of all time. Fallout is set during the aftermath of WWII. After the U.S. won the war, instead of returning to their old ways, the country began using nuclear power for... well, power instead of weaponry. The world became wonderful, a source of near-limitless energy brought many advancements to everyone on Earth. Nuclear-powered cars, robot butlers, medical advancements that could heal a person in seconds, a wonderful economy, and so many more things were the product of positive nuclear power use. But, all great things come to an end. In the mid-21st century, resources were starting to wain and wars broke out, killing many and bringing the world to the brink of nuclear war. On October 23, 2077... that possibility of war became a reality. No one is sure who fired the first shot, but absolute nuclear war broke out... killing billions and dooming humanity. Or so it seemed.

Meanwhile, a company called Vault-Tec was developed. They created war bunkers to save certain sections of humanity... and maybe for their own sinister purposes. So, vault dwellers survived, safe from the annihilation of the nuclear radiation and destruction that ravaged the world above. Raiders took over the innocent and some of the innocent became the guilty. Some of those left on the surface were transformed by the radiation and became what the people of the Wasteland call Ghouls, monstrous creatures with decaying flesh and nearly immortal lifespans unless they are killed by another. Another evil creation caused by the Great War of 2077 was the FEV (Forced Evolutionary Virus), a manmade virus that was enhanced by the radiation fallout and changed humans into Super Mutants, green creatures of usually lowered intelligence but great strength. In the last 200 years, the world has become the Wasteland, a lawless and violent land full of adventure and absolute fear. But as time passed after the Great War, several heroes have risen to create hope and show that maybe one day, things can return to the way things were. But one thing is clear.

War. War never changes.


	2. Derailed

War. War never changes. That's what I've always heard out in the wastes. I don't know how things used to run in the days before the Great War but one thing is clear. Based on what's been told to me and everyone else in this hellhole called the Wasteland, from the battle of Anchorage to the war sport of primitive baseball, we haven't ever been a docile species. We've always been cruel and socially inept to our fellow humans. I know that better than anyone now. In my dream, I can see a bright and shining city out in the distance as I sit with my parents on our porch. Mom is smiling and petting Rust's head softly and I watch as Dad rolls up a cigar and begins to strike a match. The world from my view is gray and bleak, no different from how the world really is. But whenever my head lifts to the skies and mountains far out beyond our town, the city is sparkling. I can feel a smile crawl across my face. And then, the familiar smell of bodily fluids and worn wood crackles through my senses. I feel a hard object hit the side of my head and my eyes flick open. And suddenly, I'm back in the real world.

"Wake up, shithead." the prisoner to my left tells me after smacking my head again.

I glare at him, raising my hands to grab his throat, the sharp clank of my metal restraints ringing throughout the car. He laughs at me and spits at my feet while shaking his head. I ignore the gross remark and stare up, seeing the moonlight shining through the space between the train car door and the wooden floor beneath us. I'm in a small boxcar with eight other convicts, all locked up by the NCR for various crimes. The NCR are the scourge of New California; a crazy group of soldiers trying to carry on democracy in a world where I've witnessed a Brahmin herder kill two children for stealing her box of chewing gum. The New California Republic. What a joke.

"You smell that? Campfires." a quieter prisoner says from the dark corner.

I squint in the darkness and cannot spot the speaker, only hearing his wheezing. Apparently, a raider ripped out part of his neck ten years ago and gave him a breathing problem. Lucky, I suppose. I forget his name though. No one else remembers either. I guess we just don't care enough to bother him for a question. The prisoner beside me, a shitbag named Warner, sniffs the air and nods in agreement.

"Yeah. We must be passing a town. Probably Nordon. Seems about right, considering the distance." a female prisoner in the right corner states.

I swallow hard. I was born in the dirt-town of Nordon. My family is actually part of the reason the NCR put me away and sent me to Tibbets. Although, I can't say I blame them. I'm not a good man. But I didn't do this. Not what the NCR put me in for. I ponder my innocence for a moment, bowing my head and feeling the long scar down my left forearm before sighing in hopelessness. I don't really remember getting on the train with Warner and the rest of the inmates in my cell block and the pounding sensation on the side of my head is probably the cause of all that. I want to rub it and feel the huge knot I know is forming. I can feel dried blood that has traced down my short hair and behind my left ear. One of the guards probably knocked me out. I don't remember anything. Maybe I wasn't being compliant. Who really knows.

The rickety tracks continue to race past us, a small bump with every bolt the wheels hit. I've have never ridden inside a train before despite seeing the Old One run across the Core Region. It was known to carry illegal slaves to operation posts in the Mojave and even as far as the Capital Wasteland alongside its other cargo. I wonder if any of the cars behind or in front of us is carrying any slaves. I look over at Warner and he stares at me, bucking up and crafting a grin across his pocked face. I roll my eyes at his failed intimidation and wait for him to ask me a question like he always does.

"What do you want, Dirt?"

During our times together at Tibbets Prison, he had taken to calling me Dirt ever since I referred to Nordon as a dirt-town. Everyone had a nickname in prison so I suppose Dirt is a lot more tame than some of the poor souls locked away. I could've been Cocksucker. Or maybe The Bitch. Yeah... Dirt is the best name I could've asked for. Tibbets was a horrible place. I suppose I'm being transferred to another prison. Either that or being tossed off a cliff. What's the difference, really?

"Nothing, Warner. Do you have any clue what's going on? I got hit on the head and I can't remember what the fuck's going on."

"Transfer. That's what the guard said anyway. I saw him clock you out. He got you good." Warner laughs.

"Nah, man. We're being taken out. Taking us to the Mojave and leave us to the beasts of the desert." another prisoner says.

"Whatever, John. They wouldn't waste a train and manpower just to kill us. They'd do it in the Tibbets halls and hang us by the ceiling. You gotta think a little bit, dude." Warner replies.

I just shake my head. I don't care if I live or die. I don't have a damn thing to live for anymore. I have no life to give up or fight for. New bed or a new hole for my body to rot in. No difference to a man with nothing to lose.

"We _are_ going west. Maybe we are headed to the Mojave. They have a jail out there." someone else says.

"A jail. Not a prison. A jail's too small. It won't have the space to hold all of us." John says.

"What does it matter?" I ask after the bickering and debates continue for a few minutes.

The car becomes silent and I can see Warner's angry face through the rays of moonlight. I look around at the few inmates I can see and shrug my arms.

"Really, though. What does it matter? We're obviously going somewhere. You don't get a fucking prize for being right. Who cares?"

"Someone seems to be upset. What? You miss your mom now that you're in town?" Warner laughed.

Once again, the urge to choke him washed over me and I had to keep myself at a distance against the bench I sat on. John eyeballed me through the ray that sliced through the roof of the boxcar. He saw the anger inside my eyes and backed up. I huffed a deep breath and turned my head to one of the cracks in the wall. I'll admit it; even though I hated my parents and my home, I was started to miss it. Things were better. More innocent. Now, it's just like I've molested my own future, ruining it for the rest of time. Warner waits for an answer and I open my mouth to start another fight to pass the time. But when I do, the brakes squeal loudly and we all get shifted by gravity to the front of the boxcar. I watch as the chains attached to the wall behind Warner break off from the wood paneling and he falls to the floor. He grunts and stands up, staring at me when he realizes that he's a free man. He wears the Cell 19 jumpsuit with pride and rolls up his sleeves, laughing as he kicks the long chain away from him. I back up against the bench and watch as he laughs with malice in his soul.

"Oh shit!" another inmate snaps from the dark corner.

"Warner! What the hell are you doing?"

"Taking care of something." the crazed Warner states.

"Come on, man. What do you have against him?" John asks.

Warner stops his intimidating stomps and turns to John. I roll my eyes and watch as he walks over to John, cracking his knuckles. The rest of the car become deathly quiet and I hear Warner's laugh start up from deep inside of his belly. I look at the inmate from the dark as he raises his hands and clears his throat.

"Excuse me, Warner. But what do you plan on doing when we finally arrive at our new residence? Are you going to kill them and plan an escape... most likely being shot more times than you have cells in your body? Or are you just going to kill these two men and sit back down?"

"What are you? Some pacifist?" Warner asks.

"No." the man says quietly.

"Just a man of logic. This isn't a wise decision."

"Who the hell are you?" a female prisoner asks.

"Inmate 43-FT-31997."

After that quip, Warner walks over to the man and growls like a rabid animal.

"You want me to rip another hole in your throat, old man?"

I hear the man giggle. He has no fear. I gulp and stare at John. He gives me a worried look and returns his attention to the confrontation in the corner. Warner slams his hand against the wall close to the man's face and the only sound remaining is the wheels rolling over the ancient tracks. Suddenly, I hear a faint fluttering noise, like that of a Vertibird. The Vertibirds are rare aerial crafts like they used before the Great War. Rumors float that the Brotherhood of Steel uses them and stole technology from their mortal enemy, the Enclave. But it's been five or six or seven years since the Enclave's been heard from. I look out from the crack in the wall and see the same scene. Desert and the moon shining down from above. No change. When I revert my attention to the two in the corner, Warner has knocked the man in the chest twice with his giant hands.

I try to stand up and struggle to fight the cuffs. I let out another sigh of disappointment and scream at Warner.

"Leave him alone! What's a bunch of words to you, anyway? Come on!"

"Dirt! Shut up!" John spits out.

"You're brave, Dirt. I'll give you that. But... with the way things look right now... it seems that you're the one with no way out."

He smiles at me and I back up in my seat on the bench, trying to look for a solution inside the room.

"There's no need for this!" John yells.

"You know what? I don't think I wasn't speaking to you."

"Shit." a prisoner whispers.

I meet Warner's eyes and he breathes in my face.

"What were you saying?" he says, his hands coming close.

I swallow a lump of fear and wince as his leathery hands reach out for me, nearing my temples. But suddenly, the train shifts again, pulling Warner to his feet and making him tumble into the front of the boxcar. We are all silent inside the train and wait as the screeching continues and a loud explosion goes off, completely throwing our balance and the boxcar literally off the track.

"What was tha-?" John asked before the chains connected to the opposite side of me rip his arms off and blood sprays all over the boxcar.

The inmate beside him screams and I leap up as fire and heat blasts through the right rear side of the boxcar. Mixed pieces of body parts, wood panels, and metal fly across our faces and my stomach drops when the boxcar flips over, scraping the track and creating sparks. I hang on to the bench and watch as Warner's unconscious body flies out of the car as it is crushed and flattened. My chains become unhinged from their metal plate and I fly through the air, hitting the ceiling of the boxcar before it suddenly becomes the bottom. I watch as the rest of the multiple-car train is obliterated in a spectacular display of fireworks and destruction. I close my eyes and brace for impact as the boxcar flips three more time, crushing trees and disturbing the sand and dust all around. We finally come to a painful stop and I flick my eyes open, seeing the ripped siding of the boxcar. My chains have become unhinged from the wall and I'm left with bound hands and a two foot chain attached. I flip over the open side and groan, feeling the muscles in my arms begging for me to stop moving.

I roll out of the boxcar and land in the mix of sand and grime, a long grassplant brushing my bloody face. I crawl to my knees and stare at the moon above. It's large and white, highlighting the train wreck and leaving nothing to imagination combined with the high fires that dance across the desert floor. I stand up and look beyond the damaged boxcar, seeing a Vertibird hovering a few feet from the ground and a spotlight scanning the scene. Gunshots suddenly erupt and between the screams of NCR troopers and the unknown enemy in the distance, energy beams fly across the wreck. I duck as I hear the familiar sound of a grenade being tossed from a launcher and hear it bounce off of my boxcar. I jump into the sands and bury myself the best I can as the explosion cracks through the dry air and the boxcar is hit by another blow. I hear the sounds of grumbles from behind me and find John on the ground, screaming weakly with twisted legs. He can't move anymore and without his arms, he'll bleed out in seconds. He screams for me to help him but I shake my head, moving on. I need to find a key. I search around a few more cars for any guards and as I pass by an overturned mess of a car, I find an injured NCR trooper. He reaches for his pistol on his hip but I swipe it quickly, aiming it at his heart. He holds up his hands and spits up blood, a large metal shard now showing itself to be embedded in his chest.

"Please. Help me. You can have the key, okay?" he pleads.

I sigh and shoot him in the head, blowing off his goggles and most of his cranium. I search his satchel and find the handcuffs key, can't helping but give a smile at my find. As my finger shoots through the keyring, I'm knocked in the head and almost fall into the pile of brain matter. I turn around and face forward, seeing Warner with his front teeth missing and a NCR baton in his hand. I look at the pistol as it tumbles across the trooper's body and just out of my reach.

"Warner!" I groan.

"Shut up!" he replies, hitting me in the ribs.

I shoot out a sharp exclamation of pain and roll to my side as he tries to hit me again. The baton hit the dirt and it flies in my face. I see the pistol's handle gleaming in the moonlight and grab it as he tries to stomp my hand. I push myself back against the NCR troopers' boxcar and fire twice at Warner. I hit him in the chest and shoulder but he keeps coming at me. He's 6'4 and has to be over a few hairs over 250 pounds. But a bullet is a bullet. I don't understand some of these people in the Wasteland. I close my bad eye and aim for his neck, the bullet slicing through the side and out the back. The fluid flies out and he trips backwards, rolling across the sand and spraying blood all over the ground before whipping his body erect. I jump up as he clasps his neck and run around him, quickly jumping on his back and wrapping my cuffs around his neck. Blood pushes out at an unnatural rate from the pressure and I scream in desperation as he tries to grab me from behind. I put my knees against his back and pull to the point where the edges of the metal cuffs begin to cut into my wrists. Blood showers the side of the boxcar and gunshots continue to fire close to us as I finally hear a sickening snap and I feel his neck become strangely loose.

He falls to the ground head-first and I am thrown into the boxcar, the breath knocked out of me.

"Fuck!" I yell as I take a moment to rest.

I scoot the cuffs out from under his neck and find the key on the ground at his feet. I swipe the keyring and quickly unlock myself, seeing the older man breathing softly against the car. His neck patch has become loose and his eyes are sunken in. I toss him the key and pick up the pistol, stuffing it inside the trooper's satchel. I begin to jog around the wreckage, finding more prisoners screaming for help and a small group of NCR fighting off the figures in the distance.

"They want Markus! Where the hell is he?" one of the troopers yelled.

"Six cars back! I'll go! What about the rest of them?"

I hide behind a car door stuck in the ground at an odd angle, feeling the intense vibrations of energy rounds hitting the thick metal. I close my mouth to keep my teeth inside as the trooper takes a breath before responding to the other trooper.

"We don't need anyone else. Take them out if they try anything!"

The trooper slides to his feet and runs in the opposite direction as I stay hidden. The trooper fires a few rounds, screaming in anger as I hear bullets bounce off of a heavy metal. I peek my head over the door and watch as two soldier wielding Power Armor stomp around the battlefield and completely decimate the remaining NCR forces. Their Power Armor differs from the kind worn by the Brotherhood of Steel. They have a devilish face mask and the darker appearance makes trust almost impossible in the Wasteland. The NCR trooper grabs a grenade from his satchel and pulls the pin with his teeth as energy rounds hit him in the chest. The grenade soars through the air and lands in the sand before exploding at the feet of the Enclave soldier on the right. The Power Armor does its job and there is no visible damage to the soldier. The trooper fires his assault rifle at their heads and I turn away as the left soldier blows the trooper away with a high-powered grenade launcher. I jump into the grasspit as the grenade blows the door apart and I turn around, scraping sand off my face as the two Enclave walk over to my prison door.

I want to jump up and help, but no it wouldn't be any use. I watch, paralyzed as the two soldiers fire into the car and blow it apart. I see blood splatter on their armor and watch a few prisoners hop out of the back. The girl from the corner limps out of the other side, a long trail of blood going down her leg. She leaps over a small fire and falls to the ground. I begin to run, hopping over the train track and grabbing an assault rifle as I try to pull her to her feet. I look behind us and she screams as the soldier punches through the wooden panels and makes them fly across the scorched Earth.

"What is going on?" she asks me.

"I don't know. But they aren't wasting any time with survivors!" I reply.

We begin to sprint, which turns into a jo, which turns into a panicked run for our lives. The sand gets deeper and more difficult to travel through and her gasps also become more deeper and difficult. The gunshots continue and I begin to hear one of the less-dressed Enclave soldiers yell out to us. Bullets whiz all around us and the sand shoots up in our faces as the projectiles hit the ground. I can almost feel the heat of a massive explosion from the Vertibird as it explodes violently, throwing two train cars high into the air, debris showering across the desert along with bodies and weapon pieces. One of the train cars hits the ground with a thunderous crash and I push the girl out of the way as wood panels dot the dunes of the Wasteland.

"Look out!" I yell, falling back with her as the second car crashes a few meters up.

The Enclave soldiers run at us and fire rounds with near-death accuracy. I turn around and fire a few bullets at the group of Enclave. I hit one of the men in the legs and they hit the ground. The lead soldier flicks on a flashlight on his head and point at us.

"Take them down!" he yells.

Me and the girl continue to jog across the sand and avoid more gunfire as we run up the side of a steep hill, seeing a small bright light in the distance. The light gets bigger and more grand as we creep closer to the other side of the dune. The girl starts to pant like a dog and suddenly falls to her knees, climbing through the sand as we inch closer. The Enclave continues to fire and I take a pause, bending down to one knee to get a better aim at the soldiers. I take a deep breath and close my bad eye again, looking down the sights. I can see the leader's chest armor glinting in the moonlight and fire six shots quickly, all either hitting him or the other men. One of the soldiers tumbles down the dunes, sand kicking up from beneath him as his partners leave him behind. The rest of the Enclave give all they have, firing every round they have at their disposal. The girl must've spotted the pistol in my satchel because she begins to fire at them as well. She hits the leader in the legs and the groin, stopping him in his tracks and leaving the rest of the Enclave to back off.

The girl falls down the hill first and I spot her too late to stop myself. The two of us slide down the side of the dunes and are completely helpless against gravity as we are tossed across the sandy hills and stop nearly a minute later. The girl coughs loudly and I grab the pistol, sticking out of the sand a few inches away from her hand. I dump sand out of the barrel and stick it back inside my satchel while checking the assault rifle's magazine as well. I only have four rounds left. I sigh and put the strap on my shoulder. The girl smiles and gives a small chuckle as she sees the city a few miles ahead of us. I look to my north and I have a brief flashback to my dream before Warner slapped me back into existence. It is almost an exact copy of the shining city I saw. I look at the girl and she falls, face first into the ground. I try to help her up and when I grab her left side, my hand becomes sticky with blood. I look at the side of the hill and I can spot some splotches as we made our tumble.

"Uh... did I get shot?" she asks.

"I think so. Here, use this." I say, ripping off my torn sleeve and tying it across her waist.

It does nothing to stop the heavy flow of blood pouring out from her side and I shake my head. The girl grabs for the city and swallows hard before slamming her head into the grains of the wastes. I pick her head up and her eyes are fluttering.

"What are you doing? We need to get up!" I yell at her.

"I can't go any farther. I'm sorry."

"We have to. They are going to kill us without any question if they come over that hill. We can make it to the city!"

"Sway." she says softly.

"What?"

"Sway. That's the city of Sway. My family is from there. They live right beside Harley's Shop."

"Then let's go meet them! You can make it."

"My name is Jones. Mincie Jones. Find Rick and Marta. They'll help you if they know you knew me. I want them to know what happened to me, Dirt."

"Why are you trusting me? How do you know I won't just head to the city and live my life?" I ask her.

"Because you seem to be a good person."

"I was on a prison train. With you. How good could I possibly be?"

"Hm. Good point." Mincie laughs.

I shake my head and watch the life inside of her body begin to leave her.

"Please. I want them to know. I don't think you would've tried to save me if you didn't care about life. Please. I want them to have closure. You can make it." she tells me.

"Oh... okay. I promise." I reply.

Her head loses all posture and falls back in my hand. Her hand becomes limp and falls back into the sand. I softly leave her body in the ground and stand up, staring at the city ahead. The city of Sway. Another explosion erupts in the far distance and I begin my trek forward. I don't know what Mincie's parents will do or what I will even do. But I have to move ahead. The Enclave have no idea what they are looking for on that train. And now, they never will. I open my hand and smile, seeing the glorious and expensive Maker's chip in my palm. The Wasteland doesn't know what's about to hit it. But they'll find out. Soon.

* * *

 **FALLOUT:**

 **FORGOTTEN SON**


	3. Sins

The figure dressed in NCR Ranger armor breathed deeply and fired his Caravan shotgun at the face of the woman crying for her life. The front of her masked face was blown apart; blood and bone fragments flying backwards and hitting her husband. He screamed in fear and stood up, throwing his metal chair at the Ranger before running away. He climbed over the railing in the ballroom and a few of the White Gloves followed. The Ranger pointed to his cohort and gave a quick nod before the girl whipped up her .44 magnum pistol and fired the entire barrel at the crowd. She didn't miss a single person as the harsh, specially-crafted rounds ripped through their bodies and killed them. Dark blood spewed across the ballroom and the people scattered.

The girl cohort began unleashing a horrifying display of excellent firearms skills when she reloaded her weapon. When the .44 magnum had emptied completely, she switched to the trail carbine strapped across her back and shot dozens of the masked men and women inside the ballroom. The Ranger shot down the gigantic glass chandelier and brought more chaos into the room as it killed several people. He turned to his right, pointing his other cohort to the guests escaping to the pantry. The man had a white goatee that faded into black as it went further down his chin. His eyes looked completely white from a distance, a mutation of sorts due to his family living next to a radioactive river for three generations. He pulled out his twin 9mm pistols and fired at the pantry door. The bullets slammed into the metal and hit one of the White Glove members in the side. He smacked against it and screamed as blood smeared down the right section of the door.

"Who the hell are you?" one of the ballroom managers asked, wielding a large cane as he prepared to smack the Ranger.

"Your retribution. For your sins. You don't remember me?" the Ranger replied, his true voice masked by the voice changer inside the NCR-created helmet.

"No!" the manager yelled.

He raised the cane and whipped it across the Ranger's back. The wood snapped instantly as it collided with the much-stronger back armor and the manager was hit in the face by the Ranger's shotgun. The plastic mask cracked open and blood slid down from his nostrils as he tried to crawl away. The NCR Ranger breathed in deeply and let out a disturbing laugh made eerier by the voice changer. The manager stood up and made it over to the lobby counter, sliding over the counter and grabbing the pistol taped stored under the chair. The Ranger fired his shotgun at the desk, blasting it to wood shavings as the manager was hit with the buckshot.

The manager screamed and fired the pistol twice, the round hitting the Ranger in his chest. The rounds didn't even knock him back as he cocked the shotgun and stuck two fresh shells into the loader. The manager tripped over the broken chair and started to crawl again, heading to the elevator.

"Crawl. Crawl away. Where are you going to go?" the Ranger asked in a mocking tone.

The manager reached up and pressed the 'up' button, dreading the horrifying steps of the Ranger walking toward him. He turned around and saw the Ranger aiming the shotgun at his head. He held his hands above his head and began to blubber in fear. The barrel of the shotgun came down softly against his forehead and the manager looked up, expecting death at any second.

"Most wait for the inevitable. Accepting their fate. But others, obviously not you, would try to fight. It's dangerous when the barrel of a gun is less than a foot away from the potential victim. Do you know why?" the Ranger asked.

"Because I'm going have my head blown off?" the manager cried.

"No. Because you could have grabbed the barrel and turned the shotgun on me." the Ranger replied, taking a step back and cocking the shotgun.

"Aw, fuck me." the manager cursed, slamming his hand against the elevator door as the alert sound finally dinged.

The Ranger laughed, suddenly lowering the shotgun and walking toward the injured manager.

"You asked me who I am…"

He bent down, grabbing the man's arm and digging out a piece of the metal buckshot. He screamed in pain and punched the Ranger in the helmet hard. The Ranger grabbed his hand and shoved his fingers into his palm, crushing all five.

"I tried my best to get rid of you. Six years ago. Do you remember?" he asked.

"No. No. Who are you?" the manager pleaded.

"You know exactly who I am. The one who changed the Mojave. The one who brought peace and independence to this cesspool."

"You're… you're the Courier." the manager stated.

"Yes." the Ranger said, standing up and sliding the shotgun into the back holster.

"Why are you doing this? Why are you back?"

"The better question is… why are you? The White Glove Society was taken down in 2281. I rid New Vegas of your filth. Of your disgusting practices. What made you think I'd let you continue?" the Courier asked.

The manager slid inside the elevator, not taking a chance. He quickly stood up and slammed on the third floor button. The Courier slammed his foot inside the elevator doors and tackled the manager to the ground.

"Ah! Just kill me already!"

"No. I need you to send a message to everyone. To the rest of Caesar's Legion. To the NCR. To the people of New Vegas and the whole goddamned Wasteland! Do you understand me?" he yelled.

The manager nodded in fear and the grip around his suit collar tightened as the Courier withdrew a butcher knife from his right foot and flipped it around so that the blade was behind him. He stabbed the control panel on the elevator, keeping it in place. He breathed deeply and the manager looked into the red, glowing eyes of his NCR helmet. He could barely make out the eyes inside, seeing a nasty scar cutting through the right eye. He swallowed a lump of fear and waited for the Courier to speak again.

"I am the forgotten son. The one you all thought would vanish into the Mojave and leave your fate to yourselves. It's clear that decision was foolish. I'm back. To hunt down every single person that wronged me and my people. I will have my revenge and when I'm finished… New Vegas will belong to me. Tell the world that! Tell them all!" he commanded, grabbing the knife and swiftly striking it near the manager's head.

The manager squealed, sliding down the wall of the elevator and crying briefly. He cursed to himself, sealing his eyes shut for a moment while the door shut and the Courier vanished. The ambient gunshots suddenly stopped and everything in the White Glove's building became silent. The manager looked up and flinched, the gigantic butcher knife stuck inside the wall. He opened the elevator door and ran out, seeing the full extent of the dead bodies blown apart in the lobby. The front doors began to close behind him and he spotted the female cohort winking at him before she slammed it shut.

The infamous Courier, the man who had brought peace to the Mojave Wasteland was now its enemy.


	4. Sway

**DIRT**

The sun rises over the mountain ridge and dashes of light begin to hit my eyes. I squint slowly and put a flat hand over my forehead to block out the rays of the day ahead. I'm less than a mile from Sway and I beginning to hear the rural sounds of Brahmin cattle mooing softly as their owner feeds them breakfast. I'm near the right entrance of the gigantic wall that protects Sway from unwelcome visitors. I hope they don't identify me as one. I ignore the obvious prison outfit I'm wearing and hope that with the sand and grime spread across my chest, they won't know I'm a convicted criminal. I see the twin streetlights on opposite sides of the Sway entrance and can spot a man with a sniper rifle on a makeshift guard tower a few stories up.

The owner of the Brahmin cattle had been watching me for at least the last mile as I walked along the interstate that crisscrossed through the desert. My shoes are worn from the sand abrasions and intense heat and I can feel it sneaking into the inner layer. The farmer finishes putting a fresh stock of grass into the giant bucket against the wall and walks over to his trading stand a few fee away as I get closer. I look around and see two guards on opposite sides of the door along with the sniper and the farmer. For a city the size of Sway, security seems to be at a minimum.

"I've been watching you for the last mile or so. Heard an explosion a few hours ago. Have anything to do with that?" the farmer asks with a heavy foreign accent, spreading his hands across the small trading post.

"Nope. Just passing through. I was coming from the South. Pitched a tent for the night. I'm a heavy sleeper." I lie to him.

"Hm. Where's your tent?"

"Blew away when the wind started kicking up. How do you think I woke up? Took most of my bags too."

"Hm." one of the guards mutters.

I turn my head toward him as I stop a meter in front of them. The left guard seems extremely tense evidenced by his death grip on the assault rifle. The right guard eyes mine and walks a step closer, pointing to the leather-strapped weapon across my shoulder.

"Last shift heard what sounded like a warzone over them hills. Are you sure you just pitched a tent last night?" he asks me.

"Why does it matter, Don. The man's here and wants to get inside. He doesn't want any trouble. Do you, mister?" the farmer interjects.

I nod at him and give a small smile. The guard, apparently named Don, walks forward and holds his hand out, pulling down his sunglasses and looking at my satchel. I open up the buttoned section and pull out the gun long ways, the barrel pointed toward the sky. He pulls out the assorted pistol and assault rifle bullets and dumps them back inside the bag before looking at my prison outfit. I wait in patience and pray to whatever deity watches over this hellhole that he doesn't get any wiser. He pats my sides down and slides a hand across the back of my waist. I can feel the Maker's chip in my back pocket and close my eyes in hesitation.

"You a vault dweller?" the farmer asks.

"What?" I respond, stalling for time as I try to make up a story quickly.

"One of them vault people. Vault 13, I'm guessing?"

"Oh, yeah. Sorry. I think the heat's getting to me." I say.

I look at the ripped sleeve on my arm. Thank God I don't have the prison identification letters anymore. Only the yellow number '13' remains. These wasters make up their own stories quickly.

"Where's your wrist gadget at? All of you vault dwellers have those on. I've seen a few of you passing through the roads every now and again. And you fellas are _always_ messing with that thing."

"Got broken. Along with my tent." I say, holding up my arms.

The farmer nods and walks over to the other side of his trading stand, pulling out a cigar box and smelling the tobacco before sighing in ecstasy. The guard hands the satchel back to me and looks over the hill one more time before clicking his tongue and moving quickly to the other side. The other guard crosses his arms and scans my figure before the farmer hands him one of the cigars and he strikes a match against the worn metal gauntlet that protects his forearm.

"What are you stopping in Sway for?" he asks, clipping off the bottom section of his helmet and letting the thick cloth hang down from the side.

"Meeting some people. I promised a friend that I'd tell them what happened to her." I answer.

"I see. Good luck." the smoking guard says, sticking the cigar in his mouth.

He slams a button next to the heavy metal slab at least three meters tall and two meters wide. I hear chains rattle on the other side and suddenly, the slab rises and I can see the long city street that leads into the main section of the city a half mile away. I nod at the guards and the farmer. He gives me a suspicious and stern look as he waves me off and I step inside. I begin my walk down the relatively empty section of the city, passing by a few drugged-up tweakers sleeping beside a campfire while wrapped up in piss-stained blankets. My boots scatter across the asphalt as the exhaustion from the night before and the long walk in the sand finally boils to the top of my head.

I can't even yawn in my advanced state of tiredness. I get closer to the city and can now separate at least eight or ten large skyscrapers that make up the base of Sway. The tallest building used to be taller as the top section has been obviously blown apart and a large section has been ripped off. I've heard some whispers about Sway as I've grown older. But out in the Mojave, word doesn't get around fast. Thanks to the critters the size of two men and raiders who will blow your head off to grab a bite of your stale potato chips. I continue to drag my feet along the road, which is called Pike Highway according to a bent sign sticking out of the ground about halfway to Sway. The ambient noises of people talking and businesses beginning their work day that I first caught hint of at the gate become louder and more immersive as I smell the seared meat of a freshly killed Radscorpion. A few people walking on the street give me a look, staring at the 13 across my chest.

"Vault dweller." I hear someone whisper.

"Probably got kicked out. He looks like a shit." I hear another.

I shake my head and walk forward, trying to find the friendliest vendor to ask for the Jones' location. I see the clothing trader, a frail woman with wispy gray hair and a long face. I walk over to her stand and nearly fall against the counter, my upper torso being too much weight for my poor feet. She gives me a quick scan before cracking that elderly smile that is impossible to read. In my tiredness, I return with a half-smile and I see her yellow teeth sickly gleaming right in my face.

"What do you need, young man? A new coat? Or maybe a drink? It's hot out there." she says.

"No, ma'am. Thank you, though. I need to find the Jones'? They have a shop near Harley's, I believe."

"Oh yes! Nice couple. Do you see that helicopter tail over there?" she says, pointing a few hundred feet away to the edge of the street on the left.

I nod.

"Turn that corner and you'll see the sign. They own the plants and remedies. Good and fair prices. At least in my opi-."

"Thank you." I cut her off.

I slide my heavy arms off of the counter and begin walking to their shop. I make my way through the growing Sway residents, trying to be as silent and inconspicuous as possible. I look at all of these people, starting another day in Hell, trying their best to make their way. I almost envy it sometimes. I see a mother with her kids and despite the grueling weather, horrifying creatures that lurk right outside the walls, and the ever-looming threat of death... they still smile. I wish I could remember a time when I smiled as a child. But nothing comes to mind. A blank space. A gap. It's not even a white or black space. It's just a void. Like most of my childhood. Sometimes, I can almost feel pulses of memories coming back to me. Small things. Like a flower at my house or maybe a voice. Ghosts of a past that doesn't even matter.

I keep my head low as I turn the corner, glancing at the helicopter tail sticking up from the asphalt and pondering its origin before seeing the Harley's Shop sign, glowing in lime green neon. I find the pistol inside my satchel and make sure it's ready to fire. This could be messy. I never liked murdering innocent people much. When there wasn't a direct connection for my motives, it just didn't seem right. But if Mincie's family decides to go against my wishes, there won't be any other way. I open the door to the shop and see the friendly face of what must be Mincie's dad working the front counter. I give the biggest smile I can and clear my throat.

"Sore throat? I've got some mint that'll smooth that." the man says, trying to find a jar below the counter.

"Oh no. Thank you, though." I say.

The man gets up off of his knees and smacks the dust away from his pants. He scans me for a second, raising an eyebrow after seeing the 13 logo. I check his sudden change of posture and his face scrunches up for a miniscule moment of stress. But his face relaxes a moment later and he smiles again.

"Vault Dweller, huh? Where's your Pip-Boy?" he asks.

"What now?" I ask, trying to decipher what in the hell a Pip-Boy is.

He points to his wrist for a second and I rub my ears, nodding in sudden understanding. So that's what the farmer meant by wrist gadget. Pip-Boy. What a name.

"Ah. It got broken. I was in my tent out for a research run and the wind kicked up. Got knocked around too much." I reply.

"Hm. Never knew those things for getting damaged so easily."

"Well… that wind _was_ pretty strong." I laugh.

"Hm." the man grunts.

"So, how is Vault 13, nowadays? I had a few friends who came from there. Visited a few times, myself. Trading and such. Is Michael still the Overseer? He was crazy and maniacal about twenty years ago."

"Oh… Michael? He died about… three years ago. I never really talked to him much." I lie.

The man slams the counter and gives me a wide-eyed look.

"That's a damn shame. Poor Michael."

"Yeah. Got a woman now. She's the new Overleader." I say, messing up the name.

He gives me a puzzled look, his stance suddenly becoming straight as a board.

"Overseer, I mean. Sorry!" I chuckle to myself.

"I've had a long day. It's hot out there."

"I agree. Want to take a seat?" he asks.

His tone is different. And I can sense that something isn't right.

"No, thanks. I actually wanted to ask you a few things."

"Oh." he replies.

I watch as he leaves the counter and walks around to the front of the store, locking the door shut with a latch. I flick my eyes toward him and he points to the small table beside the door, tucked away in the corner. I turn around and he can clearly see my hand on the pistol in my satchel.

"Let's have a seat for a second." he says.

"What for?"

"Just want to talk. Know more about you, that's all. Tell me some more about _Vault 13_. Catch me up." he says with a sharp tap of the chair he slides out for me.

What was that thing I said about murdering innocents? Well… this old man isn't innocent.

* * *

 **MILDRED**

"Jesus Christ, Mildred. You know how early it is to be drunk already?" Jacob asks me as he hold back the bottle of whiskey.

I slam my glass against the wooden bar and sigh as loud as I can. This little shit has tried the sweet talk three times in the last hour. In about thirty seconds, I'm gonna let my revolver do the sweet talk against his waxy little ears. Jacob sits the bottle on the table and I quickly grab it, popping the cork open with my teeth and gulping down the fiery heaven. He swipes the bottle from my hand and I pull out Lucius, aiming it at his gut.

"I'll show everyone the Mole Rat you ate for breakfast if you lay another fucking hand on me. Got it? Can't a ghoul get some fucking piece around here?" I yell at him.

I lean too far back in my stool and grab the side of the counter to get my balance back. My fingers slide off the sanded wood and I collided with the dust. The two banjo players beside the bar bust out into an annoying laughter and a few bystanders get a few chuckles in. I begin to chuckle with them, wiping the rest of the whiskey off from the corners of my rough mouth and licking my hand. The banjo players laugh harder and slap their knees like a couple of old men. Like Jonas used to do after my nephew would make him laugh. I laugh over their hearty gasps and point the pistol at the fatter man's head. He jumps up from the chair he's in and drops his banjo. I keep my pistol right on his back as he runs into the streets and I close my eye, my fingertip rubbing along the trigger. Before I can fire, Jacob tackles me to the ground and punches me in the face.

"What are you doing? Get off me, you piece of shit. You know I don't like that."

I push him off and roll in the dust before shoving Lucius into his holster. Jacob is out of breath and points at my face.

"Go lay down. It's too early for you to be acting like this! I don't like it, Mil! I'm worried about you!" he yells.

"Fuck you!"

I throw him off of me and pat my chest, dust and gravel flying off. I hock the biggest loogie I can muster and toss it to the ground. Jacob crawls back over to the bar and parts his hair correctly while breathing heavily. I flip the bird to everyone watching and casually make my way back to my motel room. The housekeeper, Stan, lets me stay indefinitely for 20 caps a week. It's not a bad deal considering that I saved his life from a rogue caravan and their trigger fingers four months ago. He's nice. Even if he keeps trying to sleep with me.

I wipe my nose and relish in satisfaction, all of Sway afraid of me. Just the way I like it. I stumble my way into the lobby of the motel and Stan gives me a shake of his head. I don't have the energy to bark at him right now. I fiddle around in my musty pockets, pulling out my keyring and find the one with a thin line of Wonderglue holding the long end together after that fight with two idiot wannabe-raiders last month. So many hardasses drag their feet into this city, spitting out some fake stories about their travels and exploits. I've heard it all. Done it all. After 238 years on this Hell some call Earth, I've come to see through people in the first half second I meet them. It's always in their eyes and the way their mouth forms the first impressionable sentence. Every fucking little eye movement and twitch of the hands can reveal every single thing about this world of _strangers_.

I open the door and throw my keys on the table holding my second and third pistols. I walk over to the couch and decide to take a nap, plopping down, boots and all. I sigh and hear the noises of the city coming back to life. Sway. It's funny to think that I'm older than this city by 80 years. Sway started out as a small settlement outside the huge city full of skyscrapers inside. Too much land to cover and sweep for just a few farmers. But eventually, they found their way deeper into the city, formally known as Sway. Back before the War, I had always heard about Sway. It was a stopping point between Las Vegas and Los Angeles. New Vegas. What a joke. A few years ago, some mailman came along and took out most of opposing forces in the Mojave. The mailman (I'm not even so sure it was a man, now. Damn memory.) took New Vegas for themselves from Mr. House, the self-appointed king of the Strip. There are several rumors about what happened to House. Some say the mailman killed him and threw him to the Raiders. Some say the mailman ate his body to gain his power. Personally? I don't give a shit. New Vegas is 40 miles away and I never saw any change in the Wasteland. It doesn't matter who tries to take charge for a year or two. Nothing changes unless the Wasteland decides to. President Kimball of the NCR? Give me a break. The bat-shit-crazy Brotherhood of Steel? Fuck those computer humpers. Garbage in. Garbage out. That's my motto.

* * *

 **DIRT**

"You don't look right for a vault-dweller, son. How long did you say you've been on the move?"

"Awhile." I say, quickly gulping down a glass of water.

"Hm. You've got a nasty scar. I can see it under your suit. Get into a fight in the vault? They were always pretty docile as far as I knew." he says, trailing a finger down his chest and mirroring my scalpel scar.

"What is with the interrogation, Mr. Jones? What is your problem with me, huh?" I ask.

Jones stands up and knocks the glass out of my hand when I try to avoid him throwing a punch. It connects right across the bottom of my cheek. My reflexes are extremely slowed from exposure to the desert. Damn. Jones kicks me in the stomach and picks me up with surprising strength. He slams my back into our table and I can't help but let out a gasp of air. Jones pulls a knife from the back of his shirt and lays the blade across my neck. When I swallow, the sharp edge cuts a thin layer of my skin. I feel the intense papercut-like wound and sit in silence and surrender. Whatever this man wants, I need to give him my full attention.

"I know you're not from Vault 13, you scum."

"Proof?" I'm able to shout out.

"The dwellers in Vault 13 moved on a hundred years ago! There's nothing but deathclaws and dead bodies there now!"

"Shit."

I knee him in the crotch and gain a split-second to grab the side of his head and shove himself off of me. He hits the floor and I grab the knife before he can stand back up. I knock him to the ground again and pull him against the counter.

"Enough small talk. It's time to tell you the truth."

"What are you talking about?"

"Mincie. Your daughter."

Jones' eyes widen and I feel his body tense up. He lunges for me with a growl but I slam him back into the side of the counter.

"What did you do to her?" he asks me.

"I saved her life. Did you know she was a criminal?" I ask him.

"A criminal? Mincie wouldn't even talk to Pastor Dorian when he came for Sunday visits. She could never talk to a stranger, why would she hurt somebody? She never did a thing wrong!"

"Well, she did something bad enough in the eyes of the NCR. She was locked up with me at Tibbets. We were being transferred when the Enclave blew the train apart. Me and Mincie escaped. She saved my life as we tried to make our way to Sway. She died on the way here. She got shot. I am sorry. But I need a friend in this town. I need to get to New Vegas."

"New Vegas? The Enclave? Are you insane? The Enclave have been gone for over a decade, son." Mr. Jones said in disbelief.

"I saw their armor. And the Vertibirds. They were looking a few prisoners on the train."

"And how would you know that?" he asked me.

"Because I was one of them."

I toss him into a half-broken chair and slowly pull out the Maker's chip from my satchel. He looks at the gleam from the sun shining through the dusty window behind us and leans toward it. I pull my hand back and hold it near the top of my face.

"You know what this is?"

"A Maker's chip. It can be used for giving power to any generator. Like the generator at Hoover Dam."

"So, you know my plan?" I ask him.

"Mojave's been dry for years. You sell that thing to the NCR or whoever controls the Dam and then, running water can be used across the whole Wasteland. That chip can change everything."

"You seem to know a lot for a settler. Where'd you come from? Originally?"

"My father and I were raised in a vault. He learned about those things. Extremely rare. That's how I knew you weren't a vault dweller. You're not the type."

"Smart. Mincie said you would help me if you knew I was one of her friends."

"Friend? You let her die." Mr. Jones says, shooting up from the seat and smacking my hand away.

I relax, realizing his energy is no longer focused on harming me, watching him walk over to the counter and grab a half-empty bottle of whiskey. Or half-full. Don't get me started on that shit. He doesn't even waste time searching for a glass, gulping from the bottle and not stopping until there is a sharp knock on the door. He slams the cap back on and with lightning speed, tells me to back up. The knocking gets louder and more frantic, a man clearing his throat outside.

"Rick! Open up! There's another vault dweller in the city! She's bleeding pretty badly! She says she's from Vault 8?"

Mr. Jones quickly walks over to the door and unlocks it. The settler busts inside the door, out of breath and a rifle in his hand.

"If it's just a girl, then what's with the gun, Moll?" Mr. Jones asks.

"She's chained to a super mutant and he's taken out two of the front guards!"

"A mutant?" I ask, peeking around from the corner of the room.

The settler nods, giving me a frown as he stares at my outfit.

"What?" I ask.

"You a dweller? You need to settle these two down. The mutant is about to eat the whole city!"

Mr. Jones stares at me and pulls me forward.

"Listen, man, I'm not really a-." I begin to say before Mr. Jones pokes me in the side.

"Equipped to deal with this right now, Moll." Mr. Jones interrupts.

"What the hell are-?" I say before he jabs me again, pulling me in front of him.

"Huh?" Moll says with a frown.

"He's been in the elements. He's dehydrated. He can't confront a mutant right now. Where's Pike and his son?" Mr. Jones asks.

Moll shakes his head.

"Pike is drunker than Hell right now. He won't wake up. Come on, vault dweller! Settle this before that girl and that damn thing cause a war." Moll says before running off into the street.

I turn around and face Mr. Jones, about to get the pistol out from my satchel.

"What in the hell are you trying to do? You trying to get me killed?"

"I'm savin your ass, son."

"How?" I squeal as I hear the roar of the mutant down the street and the screams of a few citizens.

"In Sway, it's illegal to lie. Punishable by death."

"Oh, you _have_ to be shitting me."

"Listen... you want to live and find a way to Vegas? Help me deal with this shit out here. You ain't got no other choice." Mr. Jones tells me.

I sigh deeply and contemplate shooting this fucker in the face and making my own way out of the city. But then, I look around at all the witnesses. All of the _armed_ witnesses. And I realize... I have no other choice. So, I push Mr. Jones off of me and pull out my pistol, looking down the dusty streets and spotting three guards with their weapons raised and a ten-foot tall super mutant roaring in anger and the small figure attached to his side by a single chain. If I had any luck at all, that number has dropped down to zero.


End file.
